The Gift
by TL Cowman
Summary: A story about the beginning of the revolution of people with advanced abilities.


**The Gift**

_Michael, please bring Patient 100587 to the examination room._

That's me; Patient 100587. My real name is Andrius; at least that was my name before I was brought here. Now I am only a number; a number that they need. They tell me I have to cooperate; I need to use my gift to help people, to help the country and to help the world. But I'm smarter than that. I went to college. I know they want me for themselves; they want me for political and military reasons, so they can make a profit and live their white picket fence lives. I'll give them credit though, they do have some intelligence. They've learned to suppress my gifts, as they call them; but they still need me because they don't know how to trigger the gift in others. What they don't know is I'm a step ahead of them. Their shots don't suppress me; I've learned to control the shot inside me. Why don't I just leave, then? Because I needed them; I needed to learn what they wanted and their plans for me so I could warn the others. But I've gotten everything I needed from them, so I'm leaving today. This will be fun.

"Patient 100587, you know the procedure, face against the wall, arms spread," said the guard.

"Andy."

"What?"

_This kid's nuts. Every single time he talks. He knows he's not allowed to talk. Oh well, just another reason to use the taser. Dumb shit._

"Andy. My name is Andy. I'm not some damn number. I am a human being, and I have a name. Andrius Douglass. I was a college student until I was kidnapped by you people!"

"That's enough out of you; you know what happens when you speak out of line. Taser time," he said, smiling. I feel a shock. Nothing major, like the shock you feel from putting a battery on your tongue. He doesn't know that though. He thinks I'm out cold. It helps to be a good actor. He wheels me down the hall after putting on my jacket. I'm in a psychiatric ward, though I'm here as a 'special' guest, because I have no psychiatric problems. They just feel this is the best place for me, because of the ward director, Doctor Morgan. He's an expert in research on my gift. I wasn't told any of this. Not directly, at least. I'm a Psion; one who practices Psionics. Still confused? The science fiction about mind-reading and Psychokinetics, well, it's not as fiction as originally thought. There are Psions out there, but most of us just refer to ourselves as 'Minders;' which is basically a self given street name. We don't really like to advertise ourselves though, because of 'normal' people. They think we're freaks; some kind of mutants. We are just as human as them, though. We've just learned to use more of our mind. I can read minds. I can move things with my mind, too. I used to be able to only move small things; air, some dust, small pieces of paper. But after practicing, I've learned to amplify my mind. I can move bigger things. I can do more than just that. The list is quite impressive, actually. We'll get to that later though; they're trying to bring me back to 'consciousness.' And they call themselves doctors. Ha.

"Andy…Andy, wake up. Are you okay?"

It was Doctor Morgan. He's the only one who calls me by my name. He thinks it will make him seem more caring; seem like someone I can trust. He doesn't know that I know his secrets, though. He should hope I'm the one that can be trusted. We're in the examination room now, where they bring me to try to convince me to give them the secret to my gift. They know there are others like me, and they want me to tell them where. I'm still in the wheelchair in the straight jacket. They have some sort of metal helmet on me, like this is X-Men or something; like it will prevent me from doing anything.

"I'm okay. Tell you're brute that Patient 100587 doesn't enjoy being tasered. Just because…never mind."

"What? What were you going to say about Michael? Do you know something about him?"

"Sure I do. I know something about Michael, I know something about Paul, I know something about every damn person in this place. I know about you, too, Jimmy"

"It's Doctor Morgan. You're bluffing, anyway. We've had you on an injection schedule since you've been here. You don't know anything about anyone in here, so let's get to business. The director of the CIA wants to meet with you. He feels he can help you to realize how helpful you can be to our country; to the people here. He's scheduled to come and see you on the-"

"Don't worry, Jimmy. She doesn't have a clue"

"Eh…Excuse me?"

"Jennifer. You're wife? She doesn't know about what you've been doing on those 'late nights at the clinic.' You can stop worrying about it"

"Who…Who told you about that?!"

"Well, you did, Jimmy."

"Liar! You're a liar! We have you medicated! Who told you that?"

"Every single time, you go to the florist three blocks from here. You pick up a single rose, very cliché by the way, and you drive to that raggedy piece-of-shit motel a few miles past the highway. Room Sixteen. Every time. And you pay for it all in cash so Jen won't know. Should I keep on going? What'd you think, Jimmy? You thought you had the upper hand on me? Those shots were easy to beat. I'd explain to you how I beat them, but you wouldn't understand if I did. You're a fake, Jimmy. You read a few books on Psionics and all of a sudden you're an expert? You don't know a thing about this."

Just then, Michael and Paul, the two guards, came towards me.

"Wrong."

I sent both of them up against the back wall, with my mind, of course, knocking them unconscious.

"It's been fun, Jimmy, but I've gotten all the information I needed. I'll be going now."

Before he could say anything, I knocked him unconscious, a little mind trick I know. After releasing myself from the straight jacket, I took the clothes from Paul. Of the two, he was closer to my size. I could easily leave here without his clothes, but life's easier when you draw less attention. Dressed as a guard, I made my way to the exit. As I walked down the South hall, I couldn't help but look at some of the patients. After being able to read any mind for almost three years now, it's difficult to grasp that some minds are far too gone, unable to be comprehended. I need to keep my focus on the time to come. There's a lot that needs to be done. The others need to know that some powerful people will soon be coming for us.


End file.
